Silent Without Effort

Summary: Mimi chases her toy; everyone else chases their tails.

A/N: Many thanks to Bambu and Shefa for helping me see through a brick wall, to Subversa for alpha-reading, and to Dicky for being a benevolent postcolonial overlord regarding the butchery of the Queen's English. As always, thanks to Ana. This chapter and all that follow, however many there may be, whenever they may come, are dedicated to Mischievous T.

32: Silent Without Effort

Held rapt by the curve of Hermione's immobile brow, he didn't notice when Mimi extended a small, curious paw toward the apple.

---

"Mimi, no."

But the kitten's paw had touched the apple. Faster than Severus could move, the apple activated the Floo and the flames shot up, catching Mimi's eye. He hadn't gone half a step when the flames, the apple, and a wild-eyed Mimi all disappeared, leaving a cold hearth and the imagined echo of a plaintive and somewhat affronted "Meee?!"

"Mimi!"

---

Hermione wasn't certain what time, day, or even month it might be when the tides of history paused, leaving her once again standing outside the Potions classroom. Slightly nauseous from the outrageous way she'd been yanked about through endless blurs of classes, meals, and corridor moments, all of which seemed to involve Professor Trelawney's too-large, searching eyes, she was beyond fed up with Severus, Athena, and even Demetrios, and she couldn't shake the feeling that she'd acquired a stalker.

She shuddered.

But if history had finally allowed her to catch her breath, she shouldn't waste it. She pushed her hair out of her eyes and took hold of her fraying temper.

From the absence of other students in the corridor, she deduced that another detention must be in the offing. With a half-thought for her crumbling student record - It doesn't matter to history - she adjusted the twisted strap of her satchel and rapped on the door.

"Enter, Miss Granger."

"Here we go," she muttered, beginning to wonder if Athena would ever get to the point or if this night like so many in the mosaic of her recent memory would see her hurtling forward through time as soon as she crossed the threshold.

"Good evening, Professor."

A wary eye greeted her. "It is the night before Halloween."

Grateful for that point of reference, she nodded. "Thank you. It could be March for all I can tell. Am I still in Fourth year?"

Ignoring her question, he rose and crossed the classroom to where she stood. "At last."

Whatever she might have expected had she retained any wits after skidding pell-mell through time, it wasn't that. She'd opened her mouth to ask his meaning, but before she'd summoned breath to speak, he was looming over her, his hands gripping her shoulders as his eyes and words commanded her, "Stay."

Unprepared for physical contact, she took a step backwards, but his grip tightened. "Erm... Professor...."

"Every night for the last six weeks I have told you the date, and every night you have simply nodded, taken a seat, and worked silently. Until tonight."

"You've assigned me detention every night? On what pretense?"

The professor's eyes flickered with annoyance, but he did not release her shoulders. "You are working on a special Potions project under my guidance."

"That's absurd - no one would ever believe that; I've little talent in the subject."

He barked a short laugh, and her brow furrowed as she looked more closely at him. The signs of strain and sleeplessness were visible, more marked than in her last clear memory of him.

"I'm sorry." The feel of his hands on her shoulders was fuzzing her thinking. "Um... right. Sir."

"No one has appeared to understand me, or to mark your absence in the evenings."

"Do you believe me, then? About the coin?"

"I intended to seize whatever opportunity to speak further on the inconvenient matter of your awkward presence. Now, if for once you will stay put." His hold tightened.

His closeness sent her thoughts more awry than even Athena's capricious launches through time. Fifteen, Granger. You are fifteen, and that sort of thing is not. on. Not that you realized that then, stupid girl... "Erm... I don't think a physical, um, seizing will be terribly effective, um, sir...." She felt her cheeks grow hot.

---

Even as he reached for the Floo powder in a reflexive attempt to follow after Mimi, Severus was brought up short by a new memory.

"What - now?! I don't care how confusing you find her pretty blushes, you daft bugger; no seizing Hermione until I Find. My. Cat."

---

Before Professor Snape could reply to Hermione, there was a sharp rap at the classroom door, and they both flinched backwards to a more appropriate distance.

"Enter," he snapped.

The door opened ever so slightly, and Professor Trelawney stepped through, her expression changing from anxiety to one of relief as soon as she spotted Hermione. Gasping, she grabbed Hermione's arm. "It is as I have Foreseen - you are here."

Oh, sweet Merlin, she is stalking me. And, randomly, Rather too much touching...

Fixing her gaze intently on Hermione's eyes, Professor Trelawney continued, "You must tell me, Spirit, for not even a True Seer can pierce the Veil to See her own future..." She gripped Hermione's arm harder, and although Hermione wanted instinctively to yank herself free, she realized the woman's eyes were sober, even serious, and that her hands were trembling.

Compassion welled in her. "What is it, Professor?" she asked quietly.

At the edges of her vision, she caught Professor Snape's eyes on her. No, I'm not actually fifteen; just caught that, did you?

Professor Trelawney's overlarge eyes seemed even rounder than usual; wide, vulnerable, and beseeching. "Tell me, Spirit... you must tell me... Is it as I fear? Does He Who Must Not Be Named return?"

Determined to let her down gently, Hermione shook her head. "I am sorry, but you won't be able to hear -"

"I will See the truth in your voice."

Confused as always by Professor Trelawney's tendency to imbue words with meanings they should never logically contain, but nonetheless oddly comforted that at least one soul in the castle had come to accept her without question for what she was, Hermione nodded. "Yes. He already has, in some sense."

"And does he bring Death to this castle?"

Hermione's throat closed, and she could only nod.

"And.... and..." Professor Trelawney's grip on her arm was unbearably tight, her face inches from Hermione's. "And do I..." Her voice dropped to a strained whisper. "And do I live?"

Hermione swallowed past the lump in her throat and nodded once more. "Yes, you do."

The potentially history-altering implications of her words echoed in the otherwise silent classroom, and Hermione, desperately curious to know if either professor had heard her, looked to them both in turn. Professor Trelawney's eyes were filling with tears, her shawls slipping from her shoulders as she released Hermione's arm, sagging with relief. She sank into a nearby chair, a quiet sob escaping her.

For a long moment, Professor Snape's eyes bored into Hermione's, his expression unreadable. When he finally spoke, his tone betrayed nothing, carrying only its usual sneering disregard. "Whilst my esteemed colleague collects what remains of her self-interested wits, might I inquire whether you know the outcome of this allegedly impending conflict?"

Hermione, mildly astonished to find herself bristling protectively, spoke rather more sharply than she'd intended. "You can't expect me to believe that you honestly think to subvert the protective limitations of an ancient magical artifact by inserting the odd 'allegedly'. Rather lame, really."

"I've no expectation regarding - nor the remotest interest in - what you believe or think. Neither is my problem."

"Well, that's short-sighted of you; tell me, has your toe healed?"

He glowered. "And how did you come to possess that bit of information?"

"You couldn't hear me even were I inclined to tell you, communication in which I've neither the inclination nor the slightest interest."

"Try me."

Exasperated, Hermione looked him straight in the eye. "You told me yourself, using two cats, my History of Magic notes, and a bowl of cereal."

His expression was quizzical.

"Don't tell me you heard that?"

"Your current condition does not, unfortunately, preclude my hearing the nonsensical with perfect clarity."

So I'm Cassandra now? He can hear the truth as long as it makes no sense to him? Hermione considered the potential of using that approach to communication, but discarded it almost instantly - had her speaking truth been the object of Mimi's misbegotten coin toss, she'd have been back in her usual time after the Veritaserum. No, Mimi was his familiar; there must be something he needed, although whether to discover it, learn it, or do it, she couldn't begin to say.

Trelawney was still sniffling softly.

"So do you?" he asked, with a hint of irritation.

"Pardon?"

"Do you know the outcome of the alleged confrontation?"

"You won't be able to hear the answer."

"Humor me."

Hermione smothered her own irritation, and recited, "At his request, you will kill Dumbledore and successfully get his final message to Harry, plus a great deal more information besides, ensuring that Harry wins. And far, far too many people die."

"More information, and too many people die. The rest was so much noise."

Hermione opened her hands.

Professor Trelawney startled them both with a choked laugh.

"What," they snapped in unison, turning toward the Seer, who was looking at them both with a bemused expression, the most normal expression Hermione had ever seen on her face.

"Not even I could have predicted this," she said, her still-teary eyes dancing with amusement.

"Predicted what?" Hermione asked irritably.

"My dear creatures," Trelawney began, her tone reminding Hermione unsettlingly of Demetrios, "you each hold the solution that neither of you can see. So quaintly Mundane, the pair of you - so endearing."

"That solution being?" Professor Snape demanded.

"The fact that you can see."

"You speak in riddles, Seer."

"Not this time, Severus."

Hermione was startled to hear a hint of steel in Professor Trelawney's tone.

"Use your eyes. Her words are but a different sort of Veil, one you cannot hope to pierce with language."

"Blast it, Sybill, speak plainly."

To Hermione's astonishment, Professor Trelawney laughed again. "You can't hear her, you refuse to see what's plainly before you, and I'm the one who is too subtle? You have spent too long in the shdadows. Use your eyes, Severus. Question, and keep your questions simple."

Professor Snape said nothing.

"The more honestly you look, the more you may see."

Hermione blushed, and Professor Trelawney patted her arm.

Affectionately? Surely not...

"Good luck, my dear Spirit. He will miss the obvious, if you let him. And... thank you." Professor Trelawney squeezed her arm again and wafted out the door.

"That woman is beyond creepy," Hermione murmured.

"Perhaps." Professor Snape took several steps away from her and turned, scrutinizing her intently.

She found herself at loss as to what to do with her hands. "Well?"

Slowly, as if by choosing his words slowly he might effect greater understanding, although hers or his own, Hermione didn't know, he said, "I shall ask you a question, and you will not answer. You will nod or shake your head in response, no more. No words. If by some miracle you can keep silent..."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Taking Professor Trelawney literally seems rather a desperate move. This isn't going to work."

He ignored her. "Will there be an open confrontation between..."

"Between the Death Eaters and the Order? Of course there will."

He scowled at her. "Nod or shake your head, Miss Granger. Or are the instructions too complex?"

"Oh, honestly. You of all people already know that there must be an all-out war, when it comes to it. Ask me something else."

"Do you know which side wins?"

She nodded, and he drew in a sharp breath. "You could see -"

"Shut up. Which side, Granger - which side?"

"I can't answer that with a gesture!"

"Does the Dark Lord win?"

She shook her head, and he slammed his clenched fist on a nearby table. Recovering himself, he stalked away, pacing. "I couldn't see it," he muttered angrily. "Damn that Seer..."

But Hermione's mind was racing. "You're not allowed to know the outcome, of course you're not; every other question you've asked you'd already half-deduced for yourself anyway. There must be something... something I can answer without playing Twenty Questions." she frowned, thinking, and then it hit her. Of course! She had it now; she'd already seen it. Stupid, stupid, stupid... "Ask me if you're going to live."

His face flushed with anger. "You dare -"

"Quickly - before history gets any other ideas."

"Impertinent child!"

"Damn you, Snape, I'm not a child - Just ask me if you bloody well live!"

He held her gaze for a long moment then looked away, swallowing, his hand clenching and unclenching as he mastered some internal battle.

Hermione waited.

Finally, he said, "It doesn't signify."

"I think it does, but that's hardly my point."

He glanced at her sharply, but she thought she saw a hint of something else in his gaze.

Fear? But of which outcome? "Just ask me the question."

He stood very still for a moment, then something in him seemed to sigh, as if deciding finally to admit some insignificant, long-ago transgression, one so tired and toothless as to hardly merit the bother of naming it.

What a way to think of one's life...

"Very well, Miss Granger," he said wearily. "As however old you really are, you still prefer parroting answers to actual comprehension, do I live?"

She suddenly wanted to smack him, or at least shake him soundly, but she managed to reply quite calmly, "I don't know."

Floatnotes:

~ A.